


Lead Me Back Home

by Swetz



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Artistic Liberties, F/M, Gen, Timeline What Timeline
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-10
Updated: 2019-10-11
Packaged: 2020-10-13 23:10:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 19,906
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20590667
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Swetz/pseuds/Swetz
Summary: "Uhhh, you both know each other?"Edric's words brought them back to the present, and suddenly Arya remembered why the chase began at the first place.Or,Arya kills the Waif and steals her face, but gets caught doing it. As she chases after the witness, she meets a ghost from her past.Crossing the Narrow sea back to Westeros, Arya has to deal with the seemingly never-ending war while navigating through her burgeoning feelings for Gendry and her relationship with her family.Oh, and strange dreams which make no sense whatsoever, until they make too much sense.Arya/Gendry, with slightly aged up Arya.Book x Show, or basically me choosing convincing and convenient storylines from both.





	1. Find You

**Author's Note:**

> Hello everyone!  
So this fic has been sitting in my brain for say a few months now. And because I've never written fanfiction before, please be kind to me. 
> 
> That said, don't hold back any suggestions/ constructive criticism in the comments below.
> 
> Reading this fic might be a little confusing.
> 
> 1\. It's very book based, but I've taken liberties and mixed in Gendry's track from the Show. I've done it with other characters too, according to my convenience and/or where I simply liked the show track better.  
2\. I guess this fic is going to be long so I'll try to do it in parts.  
3\. I've put memories in brackets in italics. Loud thoughts in italics. And thoughts as thoughts (I don't think I have to explain that).  
4\. There might be times where I might be slow in updating, but I WILL let you guys know whenever there's going to be a delay. I'm doing a difficult course but I'm up for the challenge.  
5\. Hugs and thanks to @obsessivewriter and @coffeexwhiskey on Tumblr. Your kind words and guidance was very helpful for this first timer.
> 
> Find me as @ginnygirl99 on Tumblr! Hope you like it!  
Swetz
> 
> Chapter 1 title inspiration: 'Find You' by Zedd, Matthew Koma and Miriam Bryant

**Somewhere in Braavos**

It took him a couple of years, but he was finally here. At Braavos...to look for his brother.

Nae, half-brother.

But, they could still be brothers, have each other's support, watch the other's back. 

They could be a family.

_ Family _ **.**

_ She _ was his first family.

When he was all but a green boy and she, she was a young girl, with her mousy brown hair and grey eyes and her courage and her determination. 

He'd do anything to get his family back. He'd do anything and everything it took to get her back.

But nothing could get her back. 

_ ("Can you bring a headless man back to life?"  _

_ Her large grey eyes were shining, and her pretty mouth was slightly open, as she waited expectantly, and her chapped pink lips quive-) _

Hells, no. She was just a child. He couldn't be thinking about her lips. He shouldn't be thinking about a dead girl's lips.

He shouldn't be thinking about her at all.

She was gone. She was gone, forever. Like his mother, who sang for him and had yellow hair. Like his drunken father, who almost rode his horse over Gendry in the streets of Flea Bottom and whored his way through his reign.

But his brother lived.

And it might have taken him more than a year to earn enough coin to book a passage to Braavos from King's Landing, but Davos' words still echoed over and over again in his head.

_ ("Name was Edric Storm. A good lad, sent 'im to Braavos, I did. His mother was a Lady of House Florent, so he got 'em big ears stickin' out but looked just like you, aye. That Baratheon look stamped over his face like 'tis on yours. A little smaller in built than you though. Renly fostered 'im at Storm's End."  _

_ Davos then looked around, his cautious eyes sweeping over the coast. _

_ "Row til' you reach King's Landing, boy. And shave off that hair, and you'll be good. Right under the Lannister Queen's nose aye, but you'll be safe. Keep your head down and ears open. Now, row! Row and don't stop!") _

He did not let his time in King's Landing go waste. He was smithing for the Lannisters and he earned good coin too. But be kept his ears open.

And he heard of the  _ Red Wedding. _

He remembered his anger, his anguish, his  _ fury. _

He wanted to smash each one of those golden Lannister heads with his hammer, but he gave his fury a direction.

He crafted his warhammer. Swords he did not understand, but hammers he did. 

He practiced every morning with his hammer, till he knew what worked for him and what didn't _ .  _ He even built himself a practice dummy to smash!

He practiced till he felt like his warhammer was an extension of his body, just like Arya-

He winced.

_ Arya… _

It still hurt. It hurt a lot. Would it hurt forever? 

She still haunted his thoughts, his dreams and her words had seemingly etched themselves on his heart forever.

_ ("I can be your family.") _

The sound of a ship's horn reminded him where he was.

He sighed. 

Edric Storm. Florent ears. Blue eyes.

He had to look for a place to live. Maybe he could find a forge, aye? Banging some steel and earning some coin while at it. 

  
  
  


**(A few years later.)**

**The House of Black and White**

A girl wondered if she would dream tonight.

Would she turn into a wolf again this time? Running through the Riverlands, with her pack following at her heels?

Her pack, she had one too, once upon a time. 

Father, mother, sister, brothers and - 

_ Him.  _

But everything felt so distant, and she hardly remembered their faces anymore. She was No one now, as she was reminded everyday. 

_ A girl is No one,  _ she repeated to herself, and slipped into a familiar darkness….

A rumble of thunder disturbed her sleep and she tried to curl into the mattress. But her mattress felt softer, larger and her eyes blinked open to a golden canopy over her.

Where was she?

It was a big, spacious room, with windows on one side reflecting the lightning from the storm outside and the furniture in the room was richly decorated. She looked to her left, and there was a little boy of about three, sleeping peacefully beside her, despite the noises made by the raging thundering storm.

_ She was dreaming! What an unusual dream… _

She slowly slipped out of bed; silk sheets and a loose nightdress gliding against her skin as her bare feet touched the cold stone floor. She felt a little disoriented on her feet and her breathing was slightly laboured. She felt taller and older.  _ Was this how it felt to be a woman grown? _

The weather was hot and humid and she ran her hands over her dress. 

_ Oh. _

She felt a flutter in her belly. What was that-

_ Oh, again! _

Her belly was protruding, large-

_ Oh. _

_ She -she was -was pregnant- PREGNANT- _

The door opened before her thoughts could stray further.

A man walked in. He was a large strapping man, towering over her, with lush, black hair and a well-groomed beard. He was well dressed, not in the gaudy style Southern lords preferred, but comfortable well-made clothes in fine fabric, suited to the warm and wet weather around her. 

"My lady, are you alright?"

She looked up at him. 

He had jet black eyes, and he looked at her tenderly, face lined with kindness. He reminded her vaguely of someone with his barely hidden haunted expression, but he was a man-grown, and quite comely too, she'd admit. Maybe he was her Lord husband?

"My Lord…"

She looked down, feeling uncharacteristically shy. To think she had  _ her Lord husband  _ standing a few steps from her. To think she was carrying  _ his child  _ in her belly.

_ What kind of a dream was this? _

He slowly walked towards her, and took her right hand in his left, rubbing soft circles on her knuckles with his fingers. It somewhat soothed her, and she wondered how he could be a stranger, yet so familiar. Warmth seemed to seep from his fingers into her, and she instinctively reached for his right hand.

Instead she found his right stump. 

He visibly flinched, and withdrew his arm from her prying fingers. He looked away from her, and somewhere in the back of her head, she felt a wide array of emotions. She expected that she’d feel disgusted, yet she only felt a strange sense of rejection. Her husband refused to share with her his pain. He expected her to look down on him, his Lady wife. The lines on his face and his furrowed brow revealed his shame. It was a foreign feeling, a strange kinship she wished to share, and she wondered if they were own feelings, or someone else’s feelings. She was not in her own body, she was certain. Could these feelings be of the woman whose body she inhabited in this strange dreamscape? Who was she? And who was he?

His face bore the scars of a warrior, and she felt a strange sense of pride in it - her husband was  _ strong.  _ But his eyes looked like deep black pools of sadness and regret. 

He looked into her eyes for but a moment before looking away and struggling with his words.

"My lady…I…I just wanted to make sure..."

She felt a surge of -  _ something -  _ rise within her and she forcefully reached out and held the stump of his right hand in her hands, caressing it. Running her fingers over it, feeling the harsh, jagged texture of the healed skin.

He let out a deep sigh; she could feel him visibly relax as his shoulders drooped, his forehead tipping forwards till it touched hers, his eyes closed but fluttering; she closed her eyes and revelled in the strange intimacy of it all. His large body was emitting warmth, and she could feel his free hand on her neck, his touch light as a feather.

Suddenly he moved away from her and she found herself being being gently pulled to the other side of the room where a large mirror stood. He kissed the top of her head, his arms on her shoulders,

"I took your everything from you, my Lady. I took your father, your home, your title, your name. But you gave me everything I had ever craved for," 

he embraced her lovingly, "my love...Will I ever...be worthy of you?"

His hand was cradling her belly, his stump in her hair, “A family of our own, our little boy, our unborn child, and us. A real family,” he said, his voice cracking on the last word.

_ Family. _

They swayed slowly as he held her tight against his chest, in a slow intimate dance which felt like  _ warmth _ and _ home _ and she pressed her ear over his heart. His steady heartbeat felt comforting.

She slowly peered over his shoulder to look at herself in the mirror.

Bushy black hair and tan skin, her heart-shaped face rested on her husband's large, muscular shoulder. She looked fierce, she looked beautiful. Her eyes were a striking shade of blue, like blue ice, like the summer seas, like…

_ Like - like - _

_ ("I can be your family.") _

_ No - no - _

"My dear, are you alright?" 

Her husband pulled away slightly, and cradled her cheek in his good hand.

_ No - no - _

_ ("You wouldn't be my family, you'd be m'lady.") _

Her mind felt like it was spinning. Her husband's voice sounded fainter…..

"Are you alright, dear?"

His  _ voice - his voice-  _

"Are you alright, Arry?"

_ Arry- Arry- Arry- _

"Arry, love?"

_ Arry... _

And suddenly she was falling, falling, falling -

A pair of strong, worn hands saved her. 

"Arry?"

She was in a lush green forest now, and looking up she saw him- 

His messy black hair, that easy smile and eyes so blue…

_ "Gendry…." _

She woke up that morning with his name on her lips after years of trying to forget herself.

  
  
  


**Somewhere in Braavos (a few days later)**

The Waif was a stupid fucking bitch, Arya decided. The wounds she had inflicted on her burned and itched and she let out a hiss of pain. Lady Crane had saved her life, and she was hidden by her in this small backstage room where she was tended to. Her eyes were closed, but she could hear Lady Crane's pleasant voice as she conversed with someone. 

"-yes, I've tended to her, and you can check her wounds if you want, being a learned boy and all."

Her ears perked up hearing herself being the topic of conversation, and the door opened slowly as the boy and the lady entered. 

"Ah, girl, you're awake then! Now meet him, he is -"

Her eyes widened in shock - no, this couldn't be, he was dead, the Red Woman took him…

"Gendry?"

She almost shouted, before the pain reclaimed it's control over her body and her voice came out as feeble, yet forceful.

But then why did he look so confused?

"Gendry? I'm sorry my lady, you might be mistaken. My name is Edric."

But of course, his face was softer, ears larger, and he was shorter and not built like a bull.

Her Bull….How much more stupid could she be? Thinking about a dead boy, a dead boy who didn't want to be her family.

Stupid, stupid,  _ stupid! _

Edric was nice, but he reminded her far too much of Gendry. They looked remarkably similar. His attempts at small talk did not interest her much, but she was curious about his ancestry. Though he tried to hide it, he clearly was highborn and his mannerisms were too hard to ignore. What was a Westerosi highborn boy doing in Braavos?

She decided that she needed to find out more about him.

She couldn't.

All but a few hours later, she was in a dark deserted alleyway, with the Waif's dead body lying beside her. Her stitched up wounds were oozing blood again, and she still struggled as she cut off the Waif's face. But she would do this. She had to do this.

"Uh...Mercy?"

Edric was standing a few feet away, looking at her with trepidation. 

Ugh, just perfect. Now she had to explain this to him.

"I am not Mercy. I am.." she slowly stood up, and inched closer.

But something in Edric snapped.

"He sent you to kill me? You are a killer! I - I will-" he stammered, before turning on his heel and running. 

_ Shit. _

Arya quickly stuffed the face into the pouch on her waist and Needle too, for good measure, and began to follow him. He might have had a head start, but no one knew these alleys better than she did. 

**Gendry**

Ah, another sunny day. Braavos was a nice place. Took him quite some time to settle in, but he did settle in eventually. He had his own forge now, and he was well known as "that Westerosi Bull Smith" because of his own unique style of combining Braavosi rapiers with Westerosi swords. He had wanted to learn how to duel like the Braavosi too. But he witnessed a few Bravos dueling at the Moon Pool, and decided that their quick, sharp movements were not meant for him.  _ Water-dancing,  _ they called it. And mocked him for his large warhammer. 

Arya would have loved it here, he thought. She would beat all of them with her Needle. That was the first thing he made when he bought his own forge. A Needle replica. And he polished it until it gleamed. He made it a scabbard with wolves on it. 

He always had Needle on his belt. It looked silly on a big oaf like him, but that mattered little to him. It kept him grounded, he believed. He would never forget where he came from and his first family.

His search for Edric had not proved to be fruitful. He now believed that he must have moved on to other cities in Essos, Pentos maybe? But he still had hope, after all, most ships to and from Westeros did dock in Braavos. He also kept track of news from Westeros. Of Stannis and his army's disappearance. Of the death of King Joffrey at his own wedding feast. Of King Tommen's ascension. 

All nasty affairs. He truly believed now that Queen Cersei's children were born of incest. He had heard the whispers of course, and if all of the King's bastards could be recognised by "the look" as that dour faced Lord Stannis, nae,  _ Uncle  _ Stannis put it, but not his own children, all three of his children, it had to be the truth. 

_ Good lord, that could make me a contender for the Iron Throne. _

A Prince. A bloody bastard Prince. Probably the last thing he ever wanted to be. Nasty affairs, all of it. The games these highborns played and the smallfolk suffered for it. Now only if-

"- sorry good sir, she's going to-" 

Huh, a Westerosi raven haired boy running through the street like possessed. And he almost ran straight into him. Couldn't he see a huge hulking man right in his path? Strange.

He watched him run, as sweat dripped down the side of the boy's face, his large ears, his blue eyes-

_ Blue eyes... _

Wait-

_ Florent ears. _

"Edric…" he muttered under his breath, as he turned around and began to follow the boy. Just his luck to find him here in the most unlikely of all places.

Why was he running? Was someone following him? Did someone want to hurt him? Had Stannis sent his men to kill him? No, he had to protect his brother. Edric ran and ran, and he went through endless alleys which confused Gendry. Where was he going? 

Everything came to a screeching halt when Edric seemed to disappear abruptly. Gendry looked around, before deciding to try his luck and going into yet another deserted alleyway off the side. 

He could hear the boy pleading,

"- please don't hurt me, I helped you, please-"

But Edric was cut off by an achingly familiar voice, 

"Now listen up you stupid boy, I am not going to kill you, and do not call me Mercy!"

Gendry felt like his knees were going to give in.

  
  
  


**Arya**

The stupid boy was trembling in front of her, as she held Needle up in her hand. He was annoying her now with his antics. Why wouldn't he just listen to her? 

"Now listen up you stupid boy, I am not going to kill you, and do not call me Mercy!" She took a deep breath, and finally said what she had been hiding within herself for years now,

" My name is not Cat of the Canals or Beth or Mercy, but I am -"

Someone else was here now, and she expertly twirled her arm to point Needle at the hulking figure. 

But she had not been expecting to face a ghost from her past.

"You are not Cat or Beth or Mercy, you are Arya Stark of Winterfell, m'lady," he said, his voice cracking with choked up emotion. 

His face had the same scrunched up look as  _ that night  _ in the cave, but he looked older, stronger, even larger. His piercing blue eyes were glimmering with unshed tears, and his bearded jaw was shaking. He was clutching a huge warhammer in his right hand. She realised he was a man-grown now, and it made her stomach feel funny. The first time she had felt it was at Harrenhal, but she didn't know what that meant.

She did however, know what it meant now.

_ Gendry…. _

"Arry…"

She realised her arm was shaking. She took a deep breath, trying to calm herself. Gendry seemed to be doing the same. How did she explain herself? How was he here? Why was he here? A thousand questions swirled through her mind.

She chanced a look at Edric, and he too was staring at Gendry, his mouth wide open.

She opened her mouth, hoping she could say something, but Edric beat her to it.

"Who are you? How do you know her? You.. you look like father… you're one of my half-brothers, aren't you?"

Brothers? That made sense, thought Arya, as she looked from Edric to Gendry. The similarities were uncanny.

Gendry sighed. "Yes, I am your brother. And I've been searching for you, ever since ser Davos told me about you. I … I didn't think I'd find you… I mean find you like this," he said, cracking a smile, "but I'm happy that I have found you, brother."

Edric looked a little emotional, "You look just like father did when I was young, when he used to come to Storm's End. He got me a stuffed stag once," his tears were flowing freely now, 

"He was not the most…caring, but he wasn't cut out to be much of a father, I've realised." 

He shook his head as he continued, " But he always wanted his sons to be a strong warrior like him…he wanted a son who would wield his warhammer like him, after him."

"Joffrey- " he spat on the ground, "that Lannister brat couldn't even hold a sword proper, let alone Father's hammer. Uncle Renly always hoped I would. I… I'm decent with a sword like Uncle Renly, but you-" he gulped before he gave a small hopeful smile, " you look like the Demon of the Trident reborn brother!"

The more Arya heard, the more her fear grew… was it true, whatever Edric was saying? Because if it was, _ the Demon of the Trident.. Gendry's father was King Robert! _

She had to protect him. Queen Cersei wanted to kill him, a Red witch wanted him, and the growing rumours of the Targaryen queen in Essos made her worried. 

"Arya.." she jolted out of her musings and saw Gendry looking at her apprehensively, "you look...ehhh...grown.." he said.

All her worries, and she had yet to speak a word to him.

_ Don't be stupid, don't be stupid, it's just Gendry, the stupid Bull, don't be stupid… _

" Uh, so do you…"

_ Of course she had to go say something stupid! _

At that, Gendry gave her a strange expression, cocking his head to the side, and a small smile seemed to be appearing on his face, growing by the instant.

She couldn't help but smile back.

And in no time they were both smiling widely as they rushed towards each other. Arya tried to remember when she had last smiled truly, because it felt foreign on her face.

Suddenly she stopped right in front of him, looking up at him, unsure on how she should greet him. Her stomach seemed to be flip-flopping at the sight of him so close, her heart in her mouth yet…

"M'lady," he bobbed his head and she jumped right into his arms, laughing uproariously after what felt like ages, nae lifetimes, lifetimes of being someone else, and now she finally was back to being Arya with her stupid Bull at her side. 

"Don't call me that, you stupid Bull!" She exclaimed, and his smile got impossibly wider and he huffed out a laugh as he hugged her tighter.

"I can't believe you're alive, m'lady. I can't believe…" he pulled away and looked at her with his hands on her shoulders, contemplating his next words before Arya cut him off 

" - and I can't believe you're here, Gendry.." 

His name sounded so right on her tongue, he thought.

And she thought the same.

"Uhhh, you both know each other?"

Edric's words brought them back to the present, and suddenly Arya remembered why the chase began at the first place. A new fear seized her heart.

Would Gendry ever look at her the same if he found out the truth about her? He eventually would, with Edric witnessing her taking the Waif's face. Her joyful reunion with her old friend was dampened by her troubled thoughts, and she was again lost in her worries as Gendry talked to Edric.

"- and then those two boys scampered away. That's how we met, right Arry?"

Arya just nodded, unable to say more. Gendry smiled, and continued,

" Now, I can tell you more later. Come with me to my forge. I have one of my own now! We can talk there, and I'll have you taste some of my cooking. Nowhere as good as Hot Pie of course, but it is something." 

Arya looked at the ground as they walked in silence, the nagging feeling of her guilt making her steps feel heavier. Her heart seemed to be thumping impossibly fast and her legs felt like lead. She could hardly walk further, and every step felt more painful, but she dragged her feet forwards until she felt her vision clouding. 

She barely heard Gendry calling out her name as she fell.

  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  



	2. Bring Me To Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspiration for Chapter Title : Bring Me to Life by Evanescence.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter initially had more action in accordance to the actual plot, but then fluff took over most of it. I'm hope it's still a fun chapter to read.
> 
> I'm not sure if a blacksmith like Gendry could really afford a privy, but this story needs it so meh.

**Gendry **

**At Gendry's home in Braavos**

_ She's almost a woman now. _

Arya was the same, yet changed. He saw flashes of the old Arya when she jumped into his arms (_ she was still very small), _ when she called him her 'stupid Bull' ( _ how did live without her nagging all these years?) _ and when she told him off for calling her a lady ( _ he knew she liked it ) _.

Yes, she looked _ even more beautiful _ than he had imagined she would be (he shouldn't have been fantasizing about a dead girl, but somewhere, at the back of his mind, he didn't truly believe that she was gone) and he could clearly see that.

But lying on his bed, pale and unmoving with wounds on her belly that could have killed her, she made him worry. Where had she been all this time? What had she been doing? Who wanted to kill her?

Edric had only fueled his worst ideas.

_ ("I saw her brother, I swear I did! There was this another girl, who came to kill her and Lady Crane. She killed Lady Crane and then she and Arya had a scuffle through the streets. I tried to follow them, but I saw her," his eyes widened dramatically, _

_ "I saw Arya cutting the face off the girl's body! She probably still has it! I know she's your friend, but she's strange and I don't trust her.") _

And he did find the face. It sickened him to see it, and left him slightly unsettled, but it increased his worries for her manifold. What had Arya been up to all this time?

She had been sleeping for more than a day, almost two days. Gendry had managed to hire a local healer discreetly to treat her wounds. He had tried to feed her some stew, and though he knew it wouldn't fill her belly, he did his best to feed her as she lay unmoving on his bed.

They hadn't talked about their separation. How had she escaped from the Red Wedding? How did she reach Braavos? 

And once again his thoughts strayed to the cave where he had rejected her offer to be a family. Would they have been safer if they ran away that night? Or would they be killed at the Red Wedding? 

_ It's still my fault, because I abandoned her. _

It was just the two of them, and then he began fancying himself as a hedge knight. Hoping to win glory, to be worthy enough. Hoping to belong, hoping to have a family.

She wanted him when he was nothing more than a baseborn bastard blacksmith. For the first time in his shite bastard life someone wanted him for who he really was. Just a bullheaded boy trying to belong in an unfair world. He didn't know what she meant by family, but he hoped it was what he thought it was.

He also knew that her parents would never allow her to even be friends with a bastard Smith, but he should have atleast accompanied her home. He should have fought for her, and not simply given up.

Arya was a good person in a world full of evil and greed. They were just a pair of good hearts against the world, and he told her that he wanted to leave her back then. Would she ever forgive him for that?

He held her hand. It wasn't cold, just barely warm. He knew she was recovering, the conversation they needed to have once she woke up made him anxious.

  


**Arya**

Pain.

Stinging, throbbing pain.

Pain was the first thing she felt, and warmth was the second. And the warmth seemed to be spreading from her hand to the rest of her body. Slowly, she opened her eyes and took in her surroundings. 

It was a small room, with stone walls and floor and a cot which seemed to be more that enough for even a large man like Gendry. A pot of water, a chest, some swords hanging on a weapons rack, a whetstone, a wooden stool and a small table cluttered with papers and books came into view, and also a sleeping Bull, dozing off with his head on the bed and his ass on the floor, holding her hand in his while at it.

She felt a rush of affection seeing him sleep; his face was at peace, and he looked younger, innocent even. Her sweet stubborn friend was a good man.

She tried to call out his name, but her voice was rusty with disuse and she needed water and also had to use the privy. She then proceeded to squeeze his hand as tightly as she could, and tried to get up. She must have squeezed pretty hard, because her sleeping Bull woke up with a jerk.

"Arya! You're awake…" Arya gestured towards the pot of water and Gendry quickly got the cue, "Yes, right water for you m'lady."

She didn't reply like she always did, instead she smiled into her glass.

Gendry helped her get up, and led her to the privy. He then left, promising to return with some stew. 

Just by observing him, she realised he knew about the face she had taken off the Waif. She could see through his fake nonchalance. They would have to talk about it soon and the thought filled her with dread. 

And she also had something else that she had to do.

Gendry returned with a bowl of steaming hot stew and a hunk of bread.

"It's not much, but it's food. And you need it," he handed her the bowl, bread and a spoon, "or do you want me to feed you m'lady?" He smirked.

She knew just how to wipe that infuriating smirk off his face.

"Just like you changed my clothes for me? Hmm?" She asked, an eyebrow raised pointedly.

His eyes widened comically, and his face was red with embarrassment. 

"Nno -no m'lady, not- not me, I mean it was not me- I just, I got a lady healer for you, and she changed your clothes and dressed and stitched up your wound some more."

Arya just giggled, which shocked both of them and then proceeded to silently finish eating her stew, all while Gendry kept shooting curious glances at her, sitting beside her on the cot.

_ It's now or never. _

"This tasted good. Really good. Come a long way from eating stones, eh?"

Gendry ducked his head in agreement, and Arya

continued,

"There's something I need to do. Will you come with me?"

Gendry just stared at her with his mouth slightly open, then said, "You're not going anywhere until you fully recover," his jaw set with determination.

"I know we need to talk about… everything. Edric must have told you some of it. We'll talk about it, I promise. But we need to do this first. Trust me, it'll explain everything," she hesitated for a moment before continuing, " and I'll understand if you'll want nothing to do with me after that. I truly will. I'm not a good person Gendry. I've killed people, and I had forgotten myself for so long."

She looked straight into his eyes, his beautiful blue eyes, "Arya Stark had been dead for a long time. But she's back now, and she's going home." she finished.

Both of them didn't speak for a few moments and she looked away, unable to continue and almost started to regret speaking so rashly. 

She had been a Faceless Assassin all her time in Braavos. She wasn't the girl who went round and round in circles through the Riverlands with Gendry. But she knew, somewhere deep in her heart, she had always been Arya Stark, and she was going to become who she had always been.

Gendry's hand was on hers. He opened and closed his mouth slowly, confusion etched on his face, before saying, "Arya, look at me."

She slowly shifted to meet his gaze. He was looking at her, looking into her, like his piercing blue eyes could read her mind, like they could stare into her soul, and she knew she couldn't look away even if she tried. The Faceless Assassin in her head was telling her to look away, but how could she, when her soul seemed to be screaming… Would Gendry want her, this broken person she was?

"I know I'm not the smartest person around, but if there's something I'm damn sure about, it's you."

He wove their fingers together; she couldn't help but notice how thick and coarse they were.

"You're a good person Arry. Always have been. Remember Weasel? Remember Lommy? You took them in and cared for them. You never looked down on me for being a bastard blacksmith. You put people on your list when they were maiming, torturing and raping innocents."

He took a deep breath,

"I trust you. Whatever you did, you did to survive. And if you say that this will explain everything, then I believe it will. But first get better, Arry. Just a few more days."

She felt overwhelmed.

She had forgotten how it felt to be cared for. And she had also forgotten how much she cared for others. 

But Gendry made her remember. Gendry cared for her. He reminded her that she had a good heart. He helped her back to herself, back to Arya Stark.

_ I need him. And I need to protect him. _

Having his muscled shoulder to lean on was what _ pack _ felt like, she thought, as she clung to him.

**Gendry (the next day)**

"I told you this wasn't a good idea." 

Edric's words felt truer with every passing second. 

Arya had gone inside that Many-faced God temple or whatever it was called about 20 minutes ago, after assuring him she'd be back in 10 minutes.

They had dragged Edric along because he too needed to "understand everything" as Arya referred to it, but waiting outside this place made Gendry more confused. Arya lived in a temple all this time? What kind of temple was this?

Edric suddenly crept closer to him, eyes widened,

"Lady Crane used to say that this was the Temple of Death," he rasped out.

_ What. The. _

"Edric, brother," he huffed, "I'm pretty sure they're just rumours spread to ma-"

"He's not wrong," Arya's voice rang out.

_ Fuck. _

"Arya... I- I still don't understand …" he said, hoping she'd explain.

"Well, I hope these will make you understand," she said, "once we get home, though." 

And she opened the pouch on her waist to show them the faces it held.

She closed the pouch and skipped down the road, and Gendry could only stand there shell-shocked by what he just saw. 

He glanced at Edric who looked very pale, like he was on the verge of fainting.

"Well, are you going to stand there all day? Come on now! I'm hungry!" And Arya continued on her way, unfazed and unruffled; like she didn't have a pouch filled with _ dead people's faces _ swaying on her hip.

**Arya**

"But you're still you, right?"

was the first thing Gendry asked when she demonstrated to them how she "wore" the face.

"Yes, I'm still me, if that's what you're worried about. The face does give me some memories of the owner, but it doesn't matter much. But people who keep doing this for a long time lose themselves in this, until they don't know who they truly are. Until they become No one. Truly Faceless."

"Truly Faceless, like...Jaqen?" Gendry's brow was furrowed, "I guess that wasn't even his name, isn't it?"

"Yes. Yes, exactly. But I couldn't ever truly become Faceless. They tried to make me forget," she said, "Blinded me, punished me, but deep down I was always Arya Stark. I could never let go. I kept Needle, hidden away, when they asked me to throw out everything I owned."

Gendry looked like he was distressed and furious at the same time. His eyes were a stormy, swirling blue, fired up with fury, and his jaw was set and gaze unwavering, before his face crumbled without warning reflecting his anguish, and he held his face in his hands, elbows balanced on his knees.

"You were never No one Arry, never. You were always someone for me!" He raised his head, as if to speak, then shook his head, and pressed his lips together. 

Edric moved from the corner of the room and sat beside Gendry and Arya on the cot. He put his hands on his brother's shoulders, trying to comfort him.

She gathered they must have bonded in the few days she was indisposed. 

Edric was young, polished and curious, and even though Gendry could be surly or even grouchy at times, Edric's affection, his knowledge of the Baratheon ancestry, his stories of "Uncle Renly at Storm's End" and his silly jokes about "bald uncle Stannis" made even her grumpy Bull melt. 

_ ( "I was a pompous brat back then. I mean, my father was the King, and Uncle Renly would have named me his heir eventually, or that was what I thought. It was here in Braavos I realised how dispensable I was. Nothing but a pawn in the game of thrones, played by wars and schemes and blood." _

_ Edric's eyes, almost identical to Gendry's, focused on both of them, slowly sipping the stew, before he said, _

_ "Family is the only thing we truly have, and I lost everything when Renly died. He was my family, and he died. But I have you now." _

_ When she shifted to glance at Gendry, she saw a wide smile on his face.) _

Edric wasn't the bravest, nor was he stubborn, but he was a good lad. Gendry viewed him as his "little brother", and it was heartening to see them get along so well.

_ But now that he has a family, a real family, he doesn't really need me. _

  


**Gendry (later in the day)**

A full moon decorated the night sky, and Edric had left a little while ago. Arya sat on the bed, looking out of the window beside it and the screeching of the cats from the alleyways outside was the only sound disturbing the comfortable quiet.

He pulled his blankets out of the trunk, and began to lay them on the floor, humming to himself a tune long forgotten yet etched into his mind somehow.

"What are you doing? Are you going to sleep on the floor?"

Arya was looking at him expectantly, her eyebrows raised, arms crossed across her chest, her head bent a little to the side. 

Two can play a game, he thought.

"Where do you think I've been sleeping all these days when you were ill, m'lady?"

He smirked, seeing his words had the desired effect as she slightly flustered, before replying.

"Don't m'lady me. I'm alright. And you're not sleeping on the floor. There's enough space on the bed for two."

"Arya… we can't -," he started.

"Not like it'll be the first time!" she cut him off.

_ But you weren't …a woman back then. _

"You were a child then. It's not proper. Hells, it wasn't even proper then, now that I think about it." He looked away, "No, I'm not sleeping with you on that bed m'lady."

"You stupid Bull!" She huffed, "I'll sleep on the floor with you then!"

She stood up, intent on doing exactly what she said, when Gendry blurted out,

"No!"

She stopped, and coolly met his gaze, cocking up that _ damned eyebrow again _, and tapping her foot, before simply saying, "Get in, then," and going to bed.

_ Fuck propriety, I'll just do as she says. _

He put out the candle and picked up his pillow and blanket. She tapped the space beside her, and he slid in. 

They both lay facing the ceiling, their shoulders touching, and he was again reminded of how _ small _ she was. They lay in silence for a few minutes; Gendry trying to concentrate on his breathing, the hissing of alleycats, the ceiling, _ anything, _to forget the small body lying beside his.

"Gendry?"

He inclined his head towards her. 

She had turned to lay on her side, her hands on his shoulder; her hands felt cold and sweaty, and her pale northern skin was gleaming in the moonlight.

"Hmmm?" he replied, and looked at the ceiling again.

"You know I have to go back home right? Back to Westeros?" she said, her voice barely a whisper, like she was talking under her breath.

"I- I'll understand if you feel like I'm leaving you. But I have to do this. I have to complete my list." she said, her voice slightly louder.

He turned to his side, to face her fully, to take in her dilated pupils, her pleading expression and her warm breath tingling on his bare chest as she looked up at him, before she continued,

"I know you're safe here. You've made a life for yourself here, and a home -"

she gestured around,

" and you can't leave all that. You can't leave Edric after you finally found him. If I complete the list, it would be safer for both of you to return to Westeros. If you would want to return, I mean. I put the Red Woman, Beric and Thoros on my list because for you, and Cersei had always been on it."

_ Oh, Arry… _

"And then maybe I can take back Winterfell from the Boltons and - and maybe if you'd like to see snow someday- you know- we could- maybe-"

He held her by the shoulders and shook her lightly.

"Arry, stop now!"

She wouldn't meet his eyes, her tiny shoulders drooping a little.

"Arry, I thought you wanted to be my family. And family look out for each other, right? You're not going anywhere without me. I'm not leaving you again, m'lady. You can't get rid of me so easily."

A small smile bloomed on her lips.

_ Beautiful. She's so beautiful. _

"We'll talk to Edric tomorrow. You sleep first." He said, and lay on his back, staring at the ceiling again. He could hear her sigh, stretch and place her arms on his shoulder again, and her touch seemed to burn through his skin. 

Eventually, he heard her breathing even, realised she had fallen asleep, and let out the breath he didn't know he was holding in. 

And then she slowly began to burrow into his side in her sleep.

_ This is going to be a difficult night. _

**Arya**

She was dreaming, she surmised.

Probably of Winterfell, with her soft pillows and furs and Nymeria's warm weight on her side.

_ But Nymeria slept on the rug near the fireplace! _

She instantly opened her eyes to find that her soft pillows weren't actually pillows at all.

_ Oh no…. _

Her head was resting on Gendry's arm with his other arm around her waist, holding her close, and his chest rose and fell steadily behind her head, her back; it was as if his body was a fireplace, warm and comfortable and_ perfect_, to her horror.

Almost like puzzle pieces that fit together, she thought, and shivered. 

The idea of her and Gendry together was something she had mused before (and dreamt of quite often, to her embarrassment), but it was too good to be true. 

_ The stupid Bull probably still thinks of me like a little sister. And his "m'lady high". _

She heard him moan in his sleep in response to her moving, and he involuntarily pulled her close; she could appreciate the smattering of hair on his chest, his chiselled abdomen, steady heartbeat; the familiar smell of soot and sweat and something _ so Gendry, _and even his morning erection, as it pressed into her lower back.

Arya wasn't totally clueless about men. She'd seen enough naked men when she worked in the Temple, and her time in brothels with courtesans and whores had made her well-versed in male anatomy and how it worked.But having Gendry against her made her feel _ something _ deep inside her, something she presumed the courtesans would call desire. She wanted to feel more of him, curious and also grateful that he slept with his chest bare, but she knew anything she did could wake her Bull from his slumber.

She also knew, though, was that he would be undeniably mortified and flustered to wake up like this. And then he'd be scared witless, her being his "m'lady" and all that. So she remained still and shut her eyes.

_ Might as well enjoy the show. _

She didn't have to wait very long. She could hear his soft snores slowly dissipate into mumbling and grinding of teeth; his chin in her hair as he pulled her impossibly close, almost kissing the top of her head; then his hips jerking once, twice, before his breath hitched and his whole body went rigid.

_ Good morrow to you too, Gendry. _

He lay there for some time, unmoving (_ knowing her Bull, probably contemplating his demise _), and then slowly, bit by bit, pulled his arm from under her head, and replaced it with a pillow. 

He finally crawled away from her, and she couldn't help but feel _ cold _, but she remained there, giving no indication that she was awake.

Only when she was totally positive that he had left did she allow herself to lay her palm on the sheet where he slept; to feel his lingering warmth on it and draw in his unmistakable scent, all with a bashful smile on her face.

**Gendry**

To say that he was surprised by Edric's response to Arya's ideas would be an understatement.

It had been a day full of surprises, he thought. The surprise he received in the morny was petrifying, and he barely escaped with his dignity intact. 

_ Thank the Seven she didn't wake up. Or I would have lost both my dignity and… _

"That would be perfect! And I know exactly the person who could help!" Edric's optimistic tone knocked him out of his wool-gathering.

"Help with what?" Gendry enquired, his absent-mindedness making him confused.

"Dyeing our hair!" replied his excited brother.

"Whatever for?" Gendry asked again, looking from Edric to Arya.

"Stupid Bull! You two walk into King's Landing looking like this, and you'll have the Gold Cloaks rounding you up in minutes. I like Edric's idea. And he knows someone who can help us with it. Someone who does it for the actors."

She gave a wolfish grin, " I can't wait to see you in blonde hair."

"Arya..." he couldn't help but groan. He knew it was for the best, but blonde hair did not appeal to him whatsoever. 

_ My Mum had yellow hair... blonde hair... _

"And don't make it too light," she called out as they were leaving, "you wouldn't want to be mistaken as Targaryens."

Turned out she wouldn't have to worry. Edric's friend had everything figured out, and the end result was excellent, even in Gendry's opinion. 

As they trudged back home after the dye-job, Gendry tried to recall his memories of his Mum. He didn't remember her face or her name. She was just plain ol' Mum, with her yellow hair, nae golden-blonde, he corrected himself, and she worked at an Alehouse. The Goldcloaks took her away but he never knew why. He just knew that she was gone, and he had nowhere to go.

It wasn't because he was King Robert's bastard, that he was sure of. The deaths began only after the Hand came around asking questions, and Prince Joffrey probably wasn't even born when his Mum was taken. She was long gone, and he hardly ever thought of her.

He often wondered about the man who paid his apprenticeship fee to Master Mott. When he was working under Master Mott in King's Landing, he secretly believed that the man was his father, but now he understood that he was mistaken. 

He didn't know who the mysterious man was, but he was grateful to him. And he was grateful to Master Mott, not just for teaching him his craft, but for saving his life by sending him with the Night's Watch recruits.

Sometimes you might have to hurt someone to save them from a worse fate, he mused.

And his fate led him to Arry and Hot Pie, and Edric and Davos, and he was glad for it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment down below, they make my day!
> 
> Also any criticism/pointers/corrections please do comment! English is not my first language, and I do need help.
> 
> Thank you for reading.  
Swetz ♥️


	3. Hold Me While You Wait

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Title inspiration: Hold Me While You Wait by the most amazing Lewis Capaldi. I love him to bits.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had hoped to post this chapter much earlier, but a problem with my internet connection led to some syncing problems, and I lost more than half of a typed out chapter.  
Yes, I know, I'm pathetic.

**Arya**

It took them a week to sell off Gendry's forge, amongst other things and finally leave for King's Landing. Arya had been doing odd chores to earn some coin, and between Gendry's savings, Edric's coin and her earnings, they had a comfortable amount of money which would last them quite some time.

The ship they took offered them three bunks. It felt strange, the first few nights on the ship, sleeping without Gendry's soft snores and warmth enveloping her.

They had been sleeping on the same bed everyday since that first eventful night. She kept pretending that she knew nothing about how they woke up every morning; Gendry holding her close as she snuggled herself into him. She was sure that any indication from her about it would make the stupid Bull insist that he ought to sleep on the floor. 

But on the morning they were to leave for Westeros, he slowly bent over her sleeping form and kissed her ever so lightly on her hair, before scampering away from the bed.

It made her smile dreamily everytime she thought about it, and Edric had commented that she looked too happy to be going back to the war-torn Westeros. She only shrugged in response, eventually returning to her usual stoic self.

Gendry leaned on a barrel, both of them on the edge of the deck, watching a beautiful sunset. She admired the way his tan skin looked soaking in golden sun rays and his blonde, windswept hair. 

_ This is what a Crown prince should look like. If Sansa was here, she’d be swooning. _

He turned to her, a small smile on his lips. She couldn't help but smile back.

_ But if this was what Sansa’s songs were all about, then maybe, they weren't too bad…. _

Suddenly, his face contorted, and he rushed to the edge and violently heaved his supper overboard.

She laughed. 

Laughed till she could feel her stomach ache, and her eyes water.

_ Her stupid, stupid bull! _

“Remind me why I am on one of these dratted things again?” he grumbled as he recovered, but something else had caught her attention by then. 

“What’s that?” she asked, pointing at the thin, long scabbard on his waist. It looked ridiculous on him; a cross between a braavosi rapier and a westerosi short sword on the belt of a man built to carry a warhammer or a greatsword.

_ A greatsword like Father’s Ice….  _

She’d been meaning to ask him about it since she’d first noticed it a few days past, but never really got a chance between her chores on the ship, and Gendry’s sea sickness.

“Thought you’d never ask, m’lady,” he smirked, untying it from his belt, placing it in her hands;

“I call it, at least I meant to call it Needle. For you, you see. I - I hope you like it,” he stammered, '' I wouldn't call it a perfect replica… but i tried-”

She cut him off mid sentence.

“It's perfect.” she declared. 

It  _ was  _ perfect. While the sword itself was slightly larger and longer than hers, it was more suited to her, now that she had grown. The pommel and crossguard were simple, like in the original. She twirled it, making it gleam brilliantly in the sunlight, and appreciated how perfectly balanced it was. 

The metal scabbard, on the other hand, made her eyes prickle with tears. Etched on it, were direwolves. Six direwolves, for the six Stark siblings, intricately made on the firm, yet light metal. She could see a bull peeking out on it; a little too large to be the maker’s mark, but too far to be an actual part of the etching.The superior craftsmanship impressed her, but the meaning behind it touched her. Her heart flooded with gratitude for the Bull-headed boy that Fate had sent her way; not once, but twice, and she wished she could keep him forever this second time.

“Thank you. It is going to be on my belt henceforth,” she managed, struggling for words.

“But what are you going to name it?”

She smiled in response to his question; she would have to think about that.

“Maybe this one will name itself,” she concluded.

  
  


**Gendry**

King’s Landing still smelled the same, Gendry thought on his way down Visenya’s Hill, where the more expensive shops on the Street of Steel were located. He had found himself a day job with ease. With the never-ending war upon them, the need for weapons never ceased. It took very little persuasion after seeing his sample pieces, and most of them happily bought into his trope of being a Westerosi boy who was taken away to Braavos before he decided to return.

They had decided to live in Flea Bottom, despite Gendry’s disinclination, for the sake of covertness. He knew the place like the back of hand, which was beneficial, he admitted. He also knew where exactly to find quarters so they could live in relative privacy, compared to other parts of the place, at least.

Their drunk landlord had not shied from enquiring about Gendry's "pretty wife", however; the old man's beady eyes raking over Arya's form. Gendry would have replied with something decidedly unsavory if Arya hadn’t played along, discreetly placing a firm hand on his thigh to calm him, and putting on a show of being the perfect wife while at it.

Edric found the entire thing exceedingly hilarious, Arya remained aloof, all while Gendry fumed with suppressed rage. And they never talked about it, despite Edric's numerous jokes at their expense.

_ Just like we never talked about our sleeping arrangements at Braavos. I wonder if she knew… _

While they did have enough coin to live in an inn, their plan was to leave as soon as the deed was done, and he expected that would require quite some coin; considering the city would most probably be under lockdown then, with the Gold Cloaks scurrying around, trying to round up the accused. After all, they were in King's Landing to kill the Queen Mother herself.

Arya and Edric had already infiltrated the Red Keep. Arya had first found herself working in the kitchens, and then as a chambermaid and now a handmaiden, and Edric was engaged as a server. While Gendry did not like the idea of them in the viper's nest while he was outside, hammering out breastplates for said vipers, he didn't really have much choice. 

Arya was adamant that Gendry needed to be their informer, and that all three of them could not afford to be inside the Red Keep. Edric supported her, and also reasoned that Gendry didn't look fit to be a server or stable-boy. He had grudgingly agreed to the plan, accepting it to be for the best.

His thoughts were interrupted when he reached home to find Arya inside, sitting atop the mattress on the floor. His eyes scanned the room for Edric, before returning to her, waiting for her to explain. 

“The Tyrells seemed to be to be toasting to Cersei's Walk of Atonement tomorrow, so I slipped out. Edric's busy serving them,” she explained, and then sighed. She motioned him closer and shifted, allowing him to sit beside her, “We have to talk… about the plan. This whole while we've been stalling because Cersei was at the Sept…we can't stall anymore,” she started, before looking down for a beat, and then looking up again. 

Her grey eyes were filled with resolution when they met his own. "It's got to be tomorrow," she said, and he felt himself stiffen as he heard the words.

_ Tomorrow. _

However, before he could say anything, Arya changed the topic, proudly informing him that she had made supper, and asking him to get washed up. He was surprised, and relented to her change in demeanor, but his own mood remained grimmer than usual. They had supper together, with Arya expertly going through the details of their plan, and he interjected only twice through the entire thing, electing to sit through most of it silently.

They eventually went to bed, Arya beside him on a make-shift straw mattress they had made themselves.

And despite his exhaustion, his mind wandered, evading sleep. He somehow kept conjuring the worst possible outcomes of their plan the next day, and while he tried to convince himself that it was not a game of dice, he knew for a fact that it was a game of chance. They were going into the plan with assumptions, and they had no actual control over how the day would roll out.

"Gendry?"

"Hmmm?"

"Why aren't you sleeping?”

He sighed.

“Just go to sleep, Arry.”

“You're tired. You need sleep,” she stressed, and he felt a twinge of shame. His craven thoughts didn't deserve her attention.

“Just awaiting sleep m'lady, nothing more,” he replied; staring at the cracked ceiling and hoping she'd not see through his lies. 

His words were met with silence, then some rustling, before he felt her soft palm on his arm. 

“Gendry…”

He could hear the pleading in her voice, and tore his eyes away from the ceiling to face her.

She was gazing up at him, her lips slightly opened, and then she shut her eyes for a moment, like she was in pain. When she reopened them, he felt like they had gone back in time, back to the cave, back to when it all fell apart.

“Gendry...can you hold me while you wait?"

  
  


**Arya**

She had the face of a handmaiden. A weak, pitiable thing, someone no one could doubt. Edric was strategically placed as the server to Cersei's wing, exchanging his position from the Tyrell's chambers with another eager server. They both carried poison laced daggers, and Arya also had Needle hidden in her person. 

But Cersei was taking her own sweet time with the Maester Qyburn, and she was losing her patience because the other handmaiden Yelena was chatting her ear off. 

Finally the Queen Mother arrived, with Qyburn in tow. Their hushed whispers made Arya curious, but she was determined to focus on the task at hand. And then the strange Maester left.

Arya arranged for the tub to be filled, and attended to the needs of Cersei, who was quiet and contemplative. There was a knock on the door, and Arya steeled herself, as Yelena left to see who it was.

_ Edric can probably flirt his way up her skirt, but we don't need that much time anyways. _

And finally, she was alone with Cersei, washing her hair, while planning her demise.

_ It all ends now. _

"Your Grace, I know you've had the most trying days…but I wonder if you knew that winter has come?'' she asked, in her most convincing "handmaiden" imitation.

Cersei's eyes narrowed, "Winter came several moons ago, you fool," she sneered, "Now get on with it!"

Arya smirked. She was going to utter the words she had been thirsting to say since the day her father was wrongly imprisoned, her family ripped apart;

“You misunderstood me, your Grace,”she started, and gave a pause, before continuing, “ My father always taught us that Winter was coming." 

_ For you, Father.  _

"And I came here to tell you, that Winter has finally come for  _ you,  _ Cersei Lannister!”

And then it all happened in a flash.

Realisation dawned in Cersei's eyes, but before the Queen Mother could even mutter a word, her mouth was gagged by the same rag which had been used to clean her body not a few minutes prior. She struggled to free herself, but Arya's iron grip held her down in the tub, effectively drowning her. The older woman's chest heaved with exertion, and her jaw was roughly yanked to meet the grey eyes of Ned Stark's child;

"Look at me." 

Cersei no longer saw the face on her golden haired, brown-eyed handmaiden from the Westerlands, but a true Northern maid, who looked like she was Lyanna Stark reborn.

“I, Arya Stark of Winterfell, sentence you to die."

They were the last words heard by Cersei Lannister, before Arya sliced her neck with the chilling accuracy of a Faceless Assassin.

Arya let the body slide into the tub, and wore the face again. She quickly cleaned herself, and walked towards the doors of the chamber.

"- and the Queen is still inside, but she doesn't need me now," Yelena giggled, and Edric replied, "That is good, because I need you," as he wiggled his eyebrows, making the young handmaiden blush and slap his arm.

_ Time to break this up. _

"What's going on here?"

Arya's voice brought Yelena and Edric's flirting to a stop, and the handmaiden pouted with unhappiness.

"Don't just look at my face, Yelena. The Queen wants you to bring her some new drinking glasses from the Kitchens." 

Yelena scurried away to carry out the dead Queen's order.

And now, they could leave, before the Queen's body was discovered, ideally. They turned to make their way out, only to find their path blocked by a serene old man in black robes, and the armoured, seven foot tall knight accompanying him.

_ Shit. _

"Ah, you're the Queen Mother's handmaiden, aren't you?" Qyburn enquired.

She gave him a small nod of affirmation.

"Please inform her that I am here with the salve she requested, and to talk to her about other important matters," he stated.

"The Queen is resting. She will see you later, Maester," she answered, as plainly as possible.

"But that will not do. The wounds on her feet need to be tended to, and I can apply the salve and leave, if she is resting," he reasoned.

The Maester seemed to be adamant, and she knew that they could do nothing about it. Her mind was slowly formulating a plan around a secret passage she had found, which led to the bay, from where they could easily reach Flea Bottom. She had to risk it, but it was the only way out.

" You can go in," she relented, " Her Grace is resting inside, in her bedchambers."

She bowed her head as he walked in, and grabbed Edric's hand.

_ Now! _

She began to run through the corridors, as fast as she could, dragging Edric along. While she had the agility and speed of a water-dancer, Edric's long legs allowed him to keep up with her. She could hear the guards making their way to them. They seemed to be gaining ground on them, and heavy footsteps she could only attribute to the Mountain were the most prominent.

_ A little more way to go, just a little more. _

The Mountain had almost caught up to them, but Arya knew they could escape. The secret passage was but a few feet away. 

_ Think about Winterfell. Think about Gendry. _

Her thighs burned with exertion, but she was almost there, Edric at her heels. 

( _ “Will you hold me while you wait?” _

_ “...as m'lady commands.” ) _

She backed up against the wall behind the dragon skulls which hid the entry to the secret path, and threw an expertly aimed knife right into the Mountain's eye from her hiding spot.

_ (“I am not a Lady,” she said, when Gendry wrapped his arms around her, holding her close.) _

She took full advantage of the momentary distraction, and started her descent into the tunnel, into the dark abyss which she knew would lead them to the coves near the beach. 

_ She had killed Cersei Lannister. She had struck out the top name on her list, and gifted her to the Many Faced God. _

She took deep breaths, attempting to calm herself first. She asked Edric if he was fine, but he didn’t answer, and that was alright, because he had probably never done anything like this before. She turned about to reach for his hand, only-

_ Edric? _

She felt her body go stiff; the darkness surrounding her chilled her spine.

Edric wasn't in the tunnel.

A heart-wrenching cry before the tell-tale crunch of a neck snapping answered her worst fears.

_ And it's all my fault. _

Arya's legs moved on their own accord, and tears flooded her eyes. She ran through the winding path all the way to Blackwater Bay, stumbling a little on the sand, until her feet were dipped in the waters of the sea.

She fell on her knees, her eyes shut, as sobs wracked through her body. She cried harder than she ever had, letting it all out. She cried for Edric. She cried for Father. She mourned for her Mother, for Robb, Bran and Rickon. For Sansa, who was missing. For Jory and Micah and Lady and Nymeria. For Jon, who was so far away, in the icy cold, with rapers and murderers for company.

She had never truly mourned for her family. She had tried to be strong for so long, and now that she had begun to feel again, it all poured out of her, like sand poured out from a broken hourglass.

She spent sundown at the beach, and then trudged back home, with sand in her clothes, her boots and her hair. 

  
  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A shorter chapter than the previous two, but with significant plot. I found this chapter harder to write, but I hope you like it.
> 
> Your comments mean everything!  
Love,  
Swetz.
> 
> Ginnygirl99 on Tumblr.


	4. Too Much to Ask

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Guess who had to go back and fix this chapter because of a plot hole? 
> 
> I hope you like it, even if it's a late update. Lots of new tracks being added in here, I don't wanna confuse anyone though.
> 
> Chapter Title Inspiration: Too Much to Ask by Niall Horan.

**Jaime**

Lancel’s admission had hurt him, but what he did not expect was how easily he accepted it. 

_ (“I heard she was uh- fucking her way through the Kingsguard,” Lancel hesitated, “and that was how they caught us," he added, his head bent in shame. _

_ Jaime schooled his features into a mask of indifference, his clenched left hand the only proof of his suppressed anger. _

_ He had resolved, in that very moment, to burn the letter Cersei had sent, begging him to be her champion for the upcoming trial. _

_ She would get nothing from him, nothing at all.) _

Deep in his heart, his conscience had always been reminding him that she was using him; manipulating him for her own gains. 

But his self-loathing always ensured that such thoughts remained buried; he had strayed so far from his dreams of being like the honourable knights he had idolised as a young teen.

_ Ser _Arthur Dayne, the Sword of the Morning, whom he had practically worshipped, would be turning in his grave for knighting him; the Blackfish, whom he had hounded for stories from the War of the Nine-Penny Kings as a Page, would spit on his face; his own late Father had termed him a disappointment the last time he ever saw him.

He had once been the pride of the Lannisters, the Golden Lion, knighted by Arthur Dayne himself; the youngest Kingsguard in history, the best swordsman in all of Westeros.

_ When had it all fallen apart? _

When had he turned into this bitter, maimed lion with a greying mane, living with naught but his ghosts and regrets? _ Kingslayer _, they taunted him. Forever tainted, despised, misunderstood; no one knew the truth behind him. The true him, with his crushed dreams and his demons, not the cocky demeanor that had been his shield for so long.

His squire entered his tent, most probably to inform him about their affairs in Raventree Hall. The last stronghold sworn to the Starks in the Riverlands, Raventree Hall had submitted to the Lannister forces without battle. He was not interested in the slightest to be involved in the matters of squabbling underlords or knights, but gestured to the squire to say his piece anyway.

“We have a visitor in the camp, My Lor- _ ser _who is insisting to meet you -”

Jaime, as usual, proceeded to tune out the rest of what the squire said, until, 

“- and _ Ser _Daven called her Brienne the Beauty, and said she was just going to waste your time, but she carried a Royal Decree, and Valyrian steel sword, so I thought My Lord-”

“Brienne? As in Lady Brienne of Tarth?”

“Yes, My Lord, a big woman-”

_ Brienne was here to meet him! _

“She is Lady of an esteemed House, boy!” he rebuked, “ You will learn to treat her with the respect she deserves.”

“I beg pardon My-”

“She is my guest. _ And _ she could knock Daven’s teeth out in one go if she wanted to. I will be having my supper with her. Off you go, now. Remember what I said.”

The boy bowed meekly and exited, leaving Jaime to ponder on Brienne's unexpected visit.

  


**Arya**

Gendry stared at her, unable to process that she had actually spoken.

It was very early in the morning, and the shadows of the night were still fading as the sun began to peek from behind the clouds.

She sighed, and repeated herself.

“I said, you need to shave off your hair.”

Her voice came out scratchy, and Gendry only nodded resignedly in response, slowly realizing her intentions. He mussed up her mousy hair, looking fixedly at the ceiling again, while she returned to rest her head on his chest, softly caressing the short hairs there.

No words had been spoken since she had returned home the previous night.

_ (She had come home to him sitting hunched over on the floor, facing the wall. His head whipped around hearing her footsteps, which sounded heavier with grief and she felt herself lower her head as he slowly rose from the ground, taking in her dishevelled appearance, her wet clothes and the sand in her hair. His eyes were red-rimmed, she realised with a jolt. _

_ He knew. He already knew what had happened. _

_ A solitary tear rolled down her cheek, and before she could reach to wipe it off, Gendry was by her side, covering the distance between them in two strides. _

_ “Arry…don't,” _

_ He tried to wipe it away with his trembling fingers, and before she knew it, she had burst into tears. _

_ She was immediately enveloped by his strong arms. She breathed in large lungfuls of his familiar scent of soot, steel, sweat and something else, trying to drown out her sorrow in it. _

_ He pulled her impossibly close; her feet were almost dangling in the air, her arms around his neck and she could feel his trembling jaw as he broke down; his face was buried in her nape, her hair wet with his tears, their chests heaving. _

_ They went to bed with their throats too raw to speak and tear tracks on their cheeks.) _

She was still lying on the mattress on the floor when the sun rose to bathe their little home in golden; golden like the hair Gendry was shaving off his head as she watched. The black roots were now showing themselves, and Arya felt a strange sort of comfort seeing his head adorned (though sparsely) with familiar raven hair again.

“I told the landlord and the forge-owner that we were leaving today,” he said, cleaning up his now shaved head with a damp cloth.

“But tell me, do you know who killed Kevan Lannister and that old man Pycelle? Nobody in the city gives two shits about Cersei’s death when those two are dead. Rumour’s that the Imp returned to kill them, y’know, with the same crossbow he used to kill Lord Tywin."

_What!_

Gendry must have sensed her disbelief, because he shook his head a little, continuing, “I know it wasn’t you, Arya, but I feel the whole Imp thing is a whole load of horseshit.”

This was news to Arya, who didn’t know about their deaths. Someone had decided to kill the two most important men in the Small Council the same day as she had killed the Queen Mother.

“I didn’t even know that they died yesterday,” she admitted.

He crouched in front of her. “Arry...I don’t think we can leave the city yet…”

“What? Why?”

“The Tarly man got the entire city blockaded. Tyrell armies are everywhere. Queen Margaery’s trial is coming up, you see, and Lord Hand Tyrell wants her to be protected at any cost. He is sending his army back to the city now, in addition to Lord Tarly’s men.” 

Gendry pinched the bridge of his nose, and continued, “I think we’ll have to wait till the trial is over, and we can leave after that. I know a decent inn not far from here, and I should take a job at the docks till then, the best place to get news of all kinds and maybe a ship North or something.”

Arya didn’t think much before she nodded, agreeing to his plan. Then again, it wasn’t like she had any other way planned to escape the wretched place.

  


**Brienne **

"Lady Brienne."

"Ser Jaime."

He ushered her to a short table with supper for two laid out on it. The Lannisters did eat well, it seemed.

“I hope my men didn't trouble you much, My Lady,” Jaime started, “They could be quite rowdy a bunch.”

_ When had he stopped calling her wench and started calling her a Lady? _

“ I am no lady, and this is not my first time in camp like this,” she said, adding,

“My first time in a camp like this, I beat ser Loras and became part of the Kingsguard. I was called Kingslayer when he was killed, till Lady Catelyn took me as her sworn sword, and then I met you, serJaime. I have faced men such as these all my life, even knocked down a few of them. They don't bother me.”

Jaime didn't reply, instead, he stared at her incredulously, as if he had just realised something monumental.

She felt a slow blush creep up her neck.

“What?”

Jaime snapped out of his haze at that, and quickly went back to eating his supper as well as he could with one hand. She reached out to cut his meat into portions for him.

“Brienne.”

“Yes?” she replied, not looking up from his plate.

“Why are you here?”

She stopped, and leaned back to her own seat to meet his eyes. “I've found Sandor Clegane. Rumour was that he was seen with a Stark girl, roaming the Riverlands and Eyrie a while ago. She's probably not with him now, but I'm sure he would be able to lead us to Lady Sansa.”

“And where is he?”

“He's at the Quiet Isle. Me and Podrick are heading that way now.”

“What! Are you crazy, Brienne?”

Jaime's eyes were widened in disbelief and he nodded his head vigorously, like he was trying to convince himself as well as her, saying,“ A man like the Hound, at Quiet Isle? You know the island is for Silent Sisters and Brothers, right?”

“I am very sure he is at the Quiet Isle, ser Jaime. I wouldn't be here otherwise,” she replied.

“I trust you Brienne, but it sounds too absurd and-”

“And I want you to come with me, because I want you to honour your oath to Lady Catelyn. Is that too absurd? Is that too much to ask for?” she cut across, letting her frustration seep into her words.

Jaime's shoulders drooped, defeated.

“Too much to ask for? Oh Brienne...I wish I could tell you...” he gave a long sigh, resting his elbows on the table, his face against his forearms, eyes shut.

He let his arms fall back, and locked his green eyes with her blue. They swirled with emotions which she couldn't decipher, but his longing expression saddened her, and she had to restrain herself from extending her hand to hold his.

“Brienne, all I want is to throw it all away and go with you... I never wanted to be anything more than a true knight, like ser Barristan and Arthur Dayne. Never wanted to be a part of all these games... I just wanted to be a true knight, but I'm nothing but an oathbreaker now.”

He looked down at the golden hand on his lap,

“Even after all this, I know that at the first chance I get, I'll go back to Cersei, to King's Landing, to all those games played for the throne, because there's no other path for me, no path of redemption, Brienne. I'm gone. I've gone too far.”

“Come with me,” 

Her lips seemed to move at their own will.

Jaime's head snapped up, surprised.

“Come with me,” she repeated, albeit a little more firm this time, “Come with me, and be that knight for a while, at least, by fulfilling the vow you gave Lady Catelyn. You can be an honourable knight for a little while, with me. Not Kingslayer, not oathbreaker, just ser Jaime Lannister.”

She couldn't stop the smile blooming on her lips when he agreed.

  


**Gendry**

Working at the docks was a new experience for him. The heavy lifting, the ropes and knots, he was good at that. They called him Bull, and he worked through the day with his head down, hoping to be left unbothered as he did his job.

At least he learnt how to swim. Arya had insisted he learnt how to, finding it hilarious that he didn't know how to. 

She had laughed. And he had relished it.

It had taken both of them quite a few days to smile without feeling guilty for the empty space left behind by Edric's death. But he knew that his jolly brother would have wanted them to laugh, to not feel let down. His heart would always have a place for him, the brother he never knew he had, the brother he found, only to lose.

He wished they could leave the city as soon as possible, because the North was what could make his Arry feel better. Ramsay Bolton still held Winterfell, as far as he knew, but he also knew that the Baratheon army was in the North, trying to retake Winterfell. And if not Winterfell, even the crisp cool northern air that Arya couldn't shut up about, back when she was just Arry in the Riverlands, would do.

There wasn't much to talk about these days, except for some friendly banter about how their day was spent, before they curled together for the night in silence. He didn't know what was growing between them.

_ Lies. _

He knew now that they both had feelings for each other which were far from what siblings shared, but dared not to bring it up or act upon it. She was his only friend, his only family, and the only person he could trust. He didn't want to ruin it in any way.

And in the end, he was only a bastard, and she was the Princess of the North, the heir to Winterfell with the fate of her siblings unknown.

She could only be his Lady, and never be _ his _ , even though he knew, in his heart of hearts, that he was _ hers _, and he would only be hers as long as he drew breath.

Never did any lady catch his attention after he saw her again and something told him no one could ever come close to the position she held in his life. It was like she was embedded in his soul, and he only found out now, now that she was here, but she had been waiting for him inside of him since forever. He didn't know what that was, and nor did he want to find out, because he had learnt it the hard way that the truth was bitter.

His truth had led to Lord Stark's death, to his capture by the Red Woman, to Davos risking his neck saving him, to his uncles rebelling against Joffrey, to the slaughter of Baratheon bastards… the truth was terrible. And truth could kill, he mused, as he carried the heavy crates across the docks.

Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed the man whose eyes had been on him since quite some time. He didn't notice as the man scrutinized the bulging muscles of his broad shoulders, the blue eyes which looked slightly larger against the shadow of dark hair on his shaved head, and his tall frame. He didn't notice even when the man decided to follow him home, with a quick detour through the market.

Only when he felt a hand against his shoulder while he was contemplating whether to buy some pie for Arya, did he realize that he hadn't been noticing enough.

  
  


**Somewhere in the Stormlands**

“You took the impregnable Storm's End, my Lord. It looks like I underestimated you and your men.”

“I had a plan. And needless to say, it worked, my Lady. They opened the gates welcoming us, after we defeated the small Tyrell army outside, thinking us to be their men.”

Arianne was impressed. She cocked her head, appraising the man before her, “You have come a long way from the man who lost the Battle of the Bells,” she conceded.

“I may have failed at the Stoney Sept, but I have learnt my lesson. There is no honour in war, my Lady, only winners. And this time, I will not hold back or hesitate, even if it meant burning down King's Landing to ashes. I will do it for my Prince, my Lady, honour be damned.”

  
  


  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ah, that was that.  
A little short, but with so many plotlines, I didn't want things to get more confusing!  
So, what do you think?


	5. Friends

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's been quite a week for me at work, hence the delay in posting this chapter. I hope it hasn't made everyone lose interest in my story.
> 
> Also, I'm very busy this week too, so I don't expect being able to update until halfway through next week unless things look better.

** _Last chapter:_ **

_ Lost in his thoughts, he hadn't noticed the man whose eyes had been on him since quite some time. He didn't notice as the man scrutinized the bulging muscles of his broad shoulders, the blue eyes which looked slightly larger against the shadow of dark hair on his shaved head, and his tall frame. He didn't notice even when the man decided to follow him home, with a quick detour through the market. _

_ Only when he felt a hand against his shoulder while he was contemplating whether to buy some pie for Arya, did he realize that he hadn't been noticing enough. _

  
  
  


**Arya**

_ Swift as a deer. Quiet as a shadow. Fear cuts deeper than swords. _

She was practising with her new sword, but while her hands moved with practiced ease and muscle memory, her mind was somewhere else. 

She had been doing this quite a lot lately.

Thinking about her future. 

The Lannisters gone, no one cared about a Baratheon bastard anymore, and Arya Stark was supposedly married to Ramsay Snow who held Winterfell, which meant they weren’t being hunted out there anymore, she had realised, the previous night while playfully running her hands on the rough dark fuzz on Gendry's head.

His hair grew _ fast. _ Soon she hoped to feel his soft, lush black hair between her fingers again, and this time without being reminded how they were a dead give-away, along with his crystal blue eyes, of his ancestry. 

_ Quick as a snake. Calm as still water. Fear cuts deeper than swords. _

She put more force in her movements, as she adjusted to the new weight and added length of the new blade.

Gendry was a part of all her futures. She couldn't live in King's Landing without him. She couldn't leave for the North without him. She smiled, thinking back to when she had wondered if she could be an outlaw in the Riverlands. With Gendry, of course.

Was Hot Pie still at that inn in the Riverlands?

_ Strong as a bear. Fierce as a wolverine. Fear cuts deeper than swords. _

She spun around, and her weapon gleamed in the rays of the setting sun.

Even if they managed to go North, Ramsay Bolton still held Winterfell, and Stannis Baratheon was trying to re-take it. Stannis would most likely make her the Lady of Winterfell if he found her, but all she wanted was to find Sansa, because she was no Lady, but Sansa would be an excellent one. And Gendry. Would Stannis try to kill him again? Stannis deserved a spot on her list for trying to hurt her Bull!

She whipped her sword through the air, and poked her invisible enemy full of holes.

_ Fear cuts deeper than swords _.

Her list. Joffrey and Cersei were dead. She had ensured the death of Ser Meryn Trant in Braavos. She had Jaqen and Sandor kill the others,and then left Sandor to die.

The Mountain and Ilyn Payne.

She knew the Mountain was something else now, a monster, an undead. And ser Ilyn Payne. She decided to remove him from her list. She didn't understand it when she was younger, but she now knew that it was his job to execute the King's justice. He would die someday, but not by her hand. 

_ The man who fears losing has already lost. _

Switching the blade from one hand to the other without trouble, she continued her graceful dance of death.

That left Beric, Thoros and the Red Woman on her list. Travelling up the King's Road in winter was impossible, and that kept them out of her grasp. She was sure that the mysterious lady would be with Stannis Baratheon. For Beric and Thoros, she'd have to search through the Riverlands, if they were still alive, that is.

_ If only they could leave this wretched city! _

She wedged her sword into the wooden flooring, her pent up frustration spilling over.

They were wasting away their time here. She did nothing substantial, just earn some spare coin by hunting pigeons and helping around in the inn (she steered clear of the kitchens though- that skill she would never get the hang of) or practiced with her new sword (which was still unnamed, by the way) in their room. 

The evenings were spent with Gendry, talking, or rather bantering about probably anything under the sun. Having supper together when he returned from the docks, smelling of fish instead of soot these days. Attempting to spar in their too small room (too small for Gendry, the stupid giant; because she could manage in even smaller spaces) without making too much noise, and failing everytime. 

_ (When Tabitha had knocked on their door the first time they sparred, they struggled to quickly hide their weapons (Gendry's weapon was huge, obviously). _

_ And when she finally opened the door, her face red with exertion, a little short-winded from all the sparring, Tabitha gave her a small conspiratorial wink and Arya couldn't help but hope that her new friend had finally managed to sneak some spare pastries from the Baker across the street. _

_ Tabitha bit her lip, leaning in, and whispered, _

_ “Now, now. I know you're both young and energetic, but...y'know…?” _

_ Arya was confused. She really wanted the sweet treats, not the girly talk. “Tabby, I don't get it...” _

_ Tabitha let out a small giggle in response, “Don't go all shy on me now, girl. I know you and that Bull of yours can't keep your hands to yourselves, I mean, of course with a man built like that,” she raised her eyebrows exaggeratedly, “ but your ...uhh… tumblings... can be heard downstairs so…” _

_ Arya's mouth was hanging open; she had turned as red as a beet, stuttering even, unable to form any coherent sentences to reply. She hadn't expected something like that to come up, not even in her wildest dreams, even though her dreams were getting pretty wild these days. _

_ “It's okay, honey,” Tabitha assured as she left, but not before she added, “Your babies will be gorgeous!” _

_ For the first time in months, Arya thought about the baby boy she had dreamt of while at Braavos. She wasn't herself in the dream, but she was a mother in it, and she had felt the foreign maternal instincts flow through her then. ) _

Of course, Gendry never found out about _ that, _she thought, pulling out her sword from the wooden flooring it was embedded in. And she didn't intend to tell him about it. 

They had been talking about the last few years everyday, lying side by side on their bed. It was slow progress, and while she took a few days before she finally could tell him about the Red wedding and her experience as Blind Beth, he never really managed to tell her what exactly the Red Woman did to him, but she guessed. And his slow nod of acknowledgement, the silent tears while she held his hand mumbling reassurances and tight grip on her that night proved that she had guessed right.

(_ “Do-d’you think I'm ...less of a ...man because of it?” _

_ She shook her head vigorously, refusing to let him even think that way. He couldn't have been more wrong! _

_ “I think you are more of a man because of it. You've been through so much, and you're still the best man out there despite all of it. A good man. And a better man than all those pricks playing their games.” _

_ Then there was silence, and she feared she had said something wrong. Was he doubting her? Did he regret telling her about it? _

_ “Nah, the best man's Ser Davos. I owe him everything. He saved my life, and risked his own, because he felt it was the right thing to do.” _

_ Her stupid Bull was nothing if not humble. _

_ “And I owe the God of Death the name of that Red Woman.”) _

And where was her stupid Bull? He should've been back by now. The sun had set and with all her pondering, she had forgotten that it was well past Gendry's usual supper time.

As if on cue, the door of their room opened, and he took a step in, looking rather sheepish. 

_ What had he done now? _

“Arry, there's someone you should meet,” he moved to the side, allowing an older man, with a greying beard and a kind smile, to enter the room.

“This is ser Davos Seaworth, Hand to King Stannis,” Gendry gave a slight pause, before adding, “and I owe him my life.”

  
  


**Gendry**

The three of them sat on a discreet corner table, downstairs, as they had their supper. He mentally made note to remind Arya to thank her friend for saving the table for them.

Davos put his tankard of ale down with a 'thud'. 

“Settled down, then, boy. Got yourself a northern lass, too, I see. I'm happy for you. Nothing like the joys of married life.” 

Gendry sighed.

_ Not again… _

Davos then laughed at Arry’s surprised expression. “Been up there in the north for far too long, now. Can spot northmen and woman without no help. A stubborn lot, that gives them away. What are you doing in King's Landing, lass?”

Arry was sporting a small smile now. He knew she’d like Davos. Who didn't, really?

“Accompanied my father here, who was in service with Lord Stark. He died not long after, and I never left. Took odd jobs in the Keep to survive, till I met Gendry, Ser Davos.”

“But of course,” Davos replied, “Haven't you heard? Ser Davos Seaworth is dead, executed by Lord Manderly on the orders of King Tommen Baratheon. I’m just Clovis, seafarer, lookin’ fer men for my new adventure,” he said, looking very pleased to be introducing them to his new alias.

“And where would your destination be?” Arya questioned. Gendry had noticed her curiosity instantly spike at the mention of adventure. 

Davos responded with a tight smile, and his eyes met Gendry's, who gave him a small nod. He too wanted to know where Davos was heading, and why.

“Skagos.”

_ What! _

“What!” exclaimed Arya, “That’s an island filled with cannibals! Do you have a death wish or what?”

“We can talk about that later,” Gendry cut in, not wanting any undue attention drawn towards them. The inn was filled with patrons, and even a word in the wrong ears could land them in trouble.

“Let us first go upstairs, first. We can continue this discussion there.”

Climbing up the stairs to their room, his mind swirled with strange theories as to why Davos needed to go to the very island everyone stayed miles away from. 

Was he going to retrieve some treasure? And why did Lord Manderly let him go, instead of executing him? Didn't doing that put the Manderlys in danger, with Boltons holding Winterfell, going against their Liege and the King's orders in secret?

When they entered the room, he went to stand by the window, looking out onto the street, the dark sky with the moon and a cluster of stars. He had heard that fortune-tellers often looked to the sky for guidance. What did the future hold for him and Arya?

He heard the mattress dip as Arya sat, and the chair creaking when Davos moved it to an agreeable position before taking a seat. 

Gendry turned around to view both of them, “So what's with this idea of you going to the cannibal island? Some sort of treasure for your King Stannis?”

Davos eyed him intently, “Aye, you could call it a treasure of sorts. It is the key to the support of the Northern houses. Manderly wants me to go fetch it. Wrote a letter to Marya, in case I don't return. But of course, things are not good down there too. Heard that Knight o' flowers gone to take Dragonstone.”

He shook his head, forehead furrowed with worry, “And Stormlands have that ol' Griffin back, with some Targaryen lad. Of course we all thought that the Targaryens were all dead, so I don't know where he got one. Everyone knows the Mountain smashed young Prince Aegon to death, and Prince Viserys had died, I remember that news reaching court.”

He stroked his beard thoughtfully, adding,“ I don't think Stannis knows of this yet. No Ravens reaching the North, not where he is, slowed down by snowstorms.”

“Davos,” Gendry began, “ I need your help, I mean, we-” he gestured at him and Arya “- need your help. We need to go North, and with Winter coming, you're the only hope for us to get a passage up to White Harbour. TheTyrells have been making leaving the city really difficult, with the trial for the Queen and all that.”

Davos gave a wide smile, and turned to Arry, “Missing home, my lady?”

Arya's reply was plain, “ You could say that,” but she couldn't resist adding, “ but I'm not a lady.”

Davos raised his eyebrows, and motioned Gendry to come closer and sit on the bed, which Gendry did, albeit cautiously. Davos then stood, and placed both his hands on his hips, and said,

“You take me to be a fool boy? Harbouring a lady under your roof, what were you thinking, eh?”

And then he turned to Arya, “ and I know a highborn when I see one, my lady. Been serving them my whole life. I can see through the boy like one can see through the stained glass in the sept. I had seven boys myself, remember, though I could never be much of a father, always away at sea. But I know enough to see through your sham act.”

And he stood there, expecting answers, while Gendry stared at him dumbstruck, like a deer caught in the headlights, and Arya fixed her gaze on the floor, trying to hide her embarrassment at being caught.

“So who are you really, my lady?”

Gendry could hear Arya gulp before she answered, with an unassuming tone, but still every bit proud,

“Arya Stark of Winterfell is glad to meet you, Ser Davos, Hand to King Stannis.”

Davos' eyes were as wide as saucers, rapidly alternating between Arya and Gendry, 

“If you are Lady Arya Stark, then who is married to the Bolton bastard?!”

  
  


**Arya ( a few days later)**

“Gendry?”

“Hmmm?”

“We're leaving tomorrow because the Faith cleared Queen Margaery of all charges today?”

Gendry lay on the bed beside her, with his arms crossed under his head, “You could say that. Either way, Davos thought tomorrow would be the best day, because the Tyrell soldiers would be too drunk celebrating along with the smallfolk. And even if they didn't let the Queen go, there would be unrest...”

Queen Margaery was loved by the smallfolk, and Arya admired her for that. The Tyrells were not her enemies anyway, truly, and she couldn't care less for that prickly throne.

“How long will the journey take us?” she questioned.

“Two weeks? I'm not really sure. I hate ships m'lady, you know that, so I'd pray it be not more than that.”

Arya smiled reminiscing his troubles on their last trip on a ship, before deciding to finally broach the topic that had been plaguing her since the day Ser Davov had shown up.

_ ( “Lord Manderly let me go on one condition,” said Davos, his gaze shifting to settle on Arya, _

_ “Lord Rickon Stark is alive and he–” _

_ Arya gasped _

_ “– is in Skagos, along with the Wildling lady Osha. We learnt this from Wes Pyke, the squire of Theon Greyjoy. We also learnt,” he added, his face grave, “–that the sack of Winterfell was done by Ramsay Bolton, and then he blamed it on the Ironborn. Theon Greyjoy is his captive, but both Lord Brandon and Lord Rickon had escaped Winterfell, and Greyjoy had actually executed two others in their place.” _

_ She didn't know whether to be happy that her _ _brothers were possibly alive, or be tormented by the thought of one of them living on an island with known cannibals and a Wildling, or that Bran, who couldn't even walk, was missing. _

_ And Theon. She still hated him, but she also pitied him now, because the idea of being a prisoner of the Boltons for years was chilling to the core, especially if the rumours about the Bastard of Dreadfort were true.) _

“What do you know about Skagos, Gendry? Did Davos say anything else about his plans?”

Gendry shifted to rest his head on his arm, looking down on her, 

“Nothing. He's telling me nothin'. Just that he's going to drop us off at White Harbour, seal the deal with Fat Manderly, and then leave for Skagos.” 

He paused, before continuing, “Technically, you're the heir to Winterfell till he retrieves your brother from the goddamned place. So Lord Manderly should be doubly pleased with him. Then from White Harbour we could head wherever you wish, m'lady,” he smirked down at her, but she could sense the underlying worry in his tone. Was he worried about Davos leaving for Skagos? Or was there something else he was worried about? 

“Gendry… I don't know what we'll do after going North. I think maybe I should go with Davos, look for Rickon. Or maybe go farther North, where he heard Bran could be. I'm not a Lady, and I don't want to be one.”

Gendry was giving her an incredulous look, but she pressed on.

“Lord Manderly will send me to Stannis, and Stannis, he'll kill you, or take you away. Either way, he'll do something horrible with you, that I'm sure of, and equally sure that the terrible Red Woman will be with him. I can't go North without you, Gendry. You're my family. My only family, now. I can't lose you to that man. Not again.”

Gendry had shut his eyes and rolled over to lay on his back. He didn't reply immediately, but after a few moments, he said,

“You're not going to Skagos or far North just to come all this way and die on me, m'lady. I won't let that happen till there is breath left in me, no. We are going North, and I will get you home, to Winterfell, at any cost. You can live as a guest in White Harbour till Davos returns.”

He reached for her hand, and his rough, work-worn palm felt soothing.

“We'll figure it out Arya. You'll be great Lady, I know it. Everyone loves you. Don't worry about me, worry about your home. About Winterfell, about its people. You are their Lady, whether you like it or not now,” he smiled wistfully,

“And you are my only family too, Arry, and all I want is you safe and happy.”

He tried his best to reassure her, but she could see the sadness he tried to hide away in his cerulean eyes. Her stupid Bull would lay down his life for her, she realised, and she did not like it. She wanted him with her, always and forever. He was the constant that held her life together now. She could not imagine a future without her stupid, noble Bull in it.

_ Father was too noble for his own good, and that got him killed. I will not let Gendry die like Father died. _

“And now, m'lady high, you better go to sleep, because Davos will be here knocking at our door in a few hours. We're leaving early in the morn, and I want to catch some sleep before I get onto that _ thing _again.”

_ M'lady high! I'll show him his high lady now... _

“Ooh, I can't wait to get on that_ thing, _though. We'll get to see some beautiful sunsets again! And maybe some dolphins? But most of all, I'm excited to be sailing with the notorious smuggler Davos on his ship with blackened sails on the Narrow sea!”

“Arya…go to sleep now.”

“Are we pirates now, Gen?”

“Arry…”

“Blackened sails, Gen, th–”

“Will you shut your trap now?”

Arya just giggled.

_ My stupid, grumpy Bull. _

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was that.  
Please leave your reviews and kudos are virtual hugs, trust me!  
See you guys next week!  
Swetz  
(Ginnygirl99-swetz on Tumblr)


	6. Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And I'm back after a long break. And by long, I mean 10 days or so. My work is unbetaed, by the way.  
Hope you like this chapter!  
Chapter title inspiration: Connection by OneRepublic

** _Last Chapter: _ **

_“So who are you really, my lady?”_

_Gendry could hear Arya gulp before she answered, with an unassuming tone, but still every bit proud,_

_“Arya Stark of Winterfell is glad to meet you, Ser Davos, Hand to King Stannis.”_

_Davos' eyes were as wide as saucers, rapidly alternating between Arya and Gendry, _

_“If you are Lady Arya Stark, then who is married to the Bolton bastard?!”_

**Jaime**

Travelling with Brienne and Podrick was refreshing, freeing even. It was just the three of them and their horses making their way through the dense forests and rolling hills of the riverlands, most days a routine of waking up early to train (he had never imagined that one day Podrick Payne would make an able sparring partner for him, but the loss of his hand and Brienne’s patient guidance had made it happen); foraging for breakfast together (the Seven bless Tyrion for teaching the boy such ingenious traps for hunting game, even as large as a small deer); riding through the day with a few stops for doing their business or bathing (he tried very hard not to glance toward Brienne’s pale, muscular body, but Podrick’s smirk proved that he had failed) before camping for the night, and sometimes even sharing stories by the fire. 

He still needed help at times, with his ties and with his food, but seeking help from Brienne or even Podrick did not leave him disheartened or frustrated; they never looked at him with pity or disgust, just aided him without question. He didn’t feel like a burden on them. He didn’t feel like the disappointment he had been termed as. He didn’t feel like the Kingslayer at all.

In fact, he felt like he was the knight he had always dreamt of being, like the Tales of Dunk and Egg he had lapped up as a child. Weren’t the Lords of Tarth descendents of Ser Duncan anyways? Well, he didn’t really know, because he never took his lessons seriously, unless they were about the heroes he admired and the battles they took part in. Brienne looked like she could be ser Duncan's descendant, the way she fought, her honour, and of course, how could he forget, her height.

She didn’t speak much, just occasionally asking small questions when he told stories of the siege of Pyke, carefully detailing the plans made, adding in the few memories he had of the superhuman strength possessed by King Robert as well as his love for warmongering ( _ “Just tell me when I get to smash those fuckers.” _). He was a shit King, but he was a fearsome warrior. 

He did not forget to talk about grumpy Stannis Baratheon and his expert seafaring abilities. Stannis was not loved my most, but it was true that he deserved more appreciation for his skills and his unmoving sense of justice. He had once hated Stannis Baratheon, but now, older and wiser, he understood him for who he was.

He did not miss the pain and longing in Brienne’s eyes when he spoke of Stannis and Robert. 

“Renly was a good man,” he finally said, trying to comfort her, “I cannot imagine the honourable Stannis Baratheon resorting to Kinslaying, but the Iron Throne has driven people to commit worse crimes.”

Podrick, who had been silent the entire time, suddenly said, “You know m’lady, ser, the three Baratheons had everything. King Robert’s strength, Prince Stannis’ sense of honour and his insight, and Prince Renly’s charm and kindness. They even had alliances with almost all the Kingdoms of Westeros, directly or indirectly. It was just that they didn’t trust each other, wasn’t it?”

Jaime couldn’t help but scoff, “That, and the fact that the King’s children weren’t even his own and Stannis’ daughter was shunned by own wife, while Renly couldn’t bring himself to father a child. It wasn’t their lack of trust, it was misplaced trust. Robert trusted us, and we broke that. Cersei and me, it was us who brought the Seven Kingdoms to ruin. All these wars, everything because I couldn’t keep it in my pants.”

He suddenly stood, trying to hide his burning eyes, his anguish, by turning his back on them. “ After she lost her first black haired-baby, Cersei, she was convinced that her womb could carry only Lannister babes. She pleaded to me, and of course, like always, I believed her, blindly following everything she said. I kept lying to myself that what she was saying was right, that Robert didn’t deserve to put a babe in her, that he couldn’t-”

And then it finally erupted, years of regret, of hate, because he deserved the pain, he deserved the jeers, he deserved to die.

He slammed his golden hand into a tree trunk, 

“ I WAS-”

“-A FUCKING-” 

“- SISTERFUCKER!”

accentuating every phrase with a hard punch.

He kept punching till his stump of a hand bled, and then roughly pulled off the golden contraption to throw it away, before falling onto his knees, hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

“How many bas-bastards did Robert have, Brienne? Fifteen? Eighteen? We’ll never know, because Cersei slaughtered all of them. All big, raven-haired, blue-eyed children. Children!” he exclaimed,

“ “The seed is strong,” Jon Arryn kept repeating that on his deathbed.” He shook his head in despair, “The seed is strong indeed.”

Jaime Lannister wept in the darkness of the forest, away from the Kingsroad and the River road where Lannister men searched for him frantically, for he needed to be informed of his sister's and uncle's deaths. But they failed, and the Lannister heir went his way, wandering through the Riverlands with Brienne the Beauty.

**Sansa Stark**

“Alayne!”

Robin Arryn was annoying, Sansa decided. But he was also a sickly, naive child, and she could use that to her advantage. 

And no, that was not what Sansa Stark would have felt once upon a time, but it was what she had learnt. She had learnt from Cersei Lannister, from Petyr Baelish and from Margaery and Olenna Tyrell.

And especially the Tyrells, who would probably be controlling the Capitol now with their sweet and naive King Tommen.

“Alayne, when will the bird return? I want to see it fly!”

Lord Arryn was not known for his patience.

“It will return soon, My Lord, fret not. It is a falcon, afterall, the symbol of your house,” she stressed, “ a beautiful bird, a little proud, but fast and graceful. I am sure it will be here.”

“Will it be here today?” the young Lord asked again, looking at her with hope in his eyes.

She sighed.

How did she tell the little Lord that the bird would return only when his master willed him to return, and that neither her, nor the little Lord were it's master. Nae, it's master lived far away, but she had faith.

_ Rosanne would return to her, and her only, like she always did. Words were wind, but the wind beneath Rosanne's wings were not her words, no. _

“Call me Petyr,” he'd tell her. But the sick sense of worthlessness never left her, and had only grown within her. Every day, she questioned herself. Despite Littlefinger's reassurances about her being the “Key to the North”, she had started to believe it was all a lie. The daughter of a dead, disgraced House, would she die like her Aunt Lysa, once Littlefinger was done with her? Or would she forever pretend to be the bastard daughter of this slimy man, facilitating in his crime, as he slowly drugged Sweetrobin with sweetsleep? 

She was a slow learner, but she had learnt her lesson, and she was continuing to learn. Cersei's teachings about a woman's power didn't feel foreign now. And Lady Olenna feigning to be more old than she actually was made sense when she applied it on herself, feigning to be the same old Sansa Stark, who was like a little bird from the Summer Isles, reciting everything that was taught to her. Sandor Clegane had opened her eyes, and she often wondered what her life could have been if she had run away with him in the confusion during the Battle of Blackwater.

(_ When the falcon had arrived the first time in the chamber of the Lady of the Castle, the room occupied by her after the death of her Aunt, she had thought it to be another one of the thoughtless toys for the young, spoiled Sweetrobin. She was slightly intimidated by the large bird perched on the windowsill, but her days of observing Margaery and Lady Janna hawking made her brave enough to approach it (albeit wearing one of her Aunt's large fur coats to protect herself). The bird had hopped and cooed at her, and she gave it some water and birdseed stolen from the rookery, before realizing it had a scroll tied on it, rather discreetly too, and slowly, carefully, she attempted to untie it, when the bird lifted it's leg, making it easier for her. A little stunned by how well trained it was, she held the scroll in her hand, debating whether she ought to open it or not, when something fell out from it. _

_ 'A powder blue handkerchief… why, it was her handkerchief!') _

She had learnt what it meant to hide things in plain sight, when she introduced the falcon, Rosanne, to Sweetrobin. The fussy boy had delighted in observing the bird, and Littlefinger was too consumed in his scheming to realise the true meaning behind the gift.

And after but a few moments after the sickly Lord left her chambers, Rosanne had found her way to her windowsill, perched on it with her leg outstretched. Sansa quickly locked her door, and put on her leather bird harness.

Sansa knew her knowledge was valuable, but she had never imagined that she'd await these messages with such anticipation as she did now. She had thought she could learn to play the game, sharing the right secrets, because she knew the truth behind Joffrey and his siblings, of his death and of Aunt Lysa's death. She also knew that Ramsey Bolton was married to an imposter. But she wasn't really playing the game now, truly. 

How could she, when the first words she had read that first fateful day were, 

'Her name is Rosanne. She's a good girl, an obedient one. Would you feed her some birdseed for me, My lady? She's had a long journey.'

_ You had said that he'd bore me, Petyr, but his gentle words and good-heartedness are everything I needed and everything you will never be. _

**Arya**

Having to sleep on a bunk, away from Gendry's warmth was torture on it's own. And adding to it were the dreams she had every night, and waking up to nothing at all, while dying every night. Dark circles adorning her face, she still hesitated before closing her eyes;

_ Would she die again today, the same way she did everyday? _

Gendry was worried for her. The stupid Bull didn't understand, of course. He fell asleep the second he hit the mattress, the lucky bastard, and wouldn't take her answer of “Nightmares, Gendry. They'll go away,” anymore. He asked about it everyday, and she found him beside her whenever she woke up screaming, and now he seemed to be tired too, and also yawned through the day, all because of his disturbed sleep, because of her. Gendry slept like a log, and they often joked that he could sleep through anything, but she woke him up.

_ We grew up. We changed. _

And once again, like every night, she was back in the now extremely familiar dream. 

Strolling on the rocky beach, the blue sea seemed to be beckoning her closer, and the wind whispering in her ear, but she ignored it, choosing to dance in the sand, spring in her step, and took the path away from the water. 

She walked up the man who had captured her heart, her soul, forever: her hardworking husband, who was directing men as they worked; his sculpted back, his large arms cutting through the air with grace, as he broke the large rock into smaller pieces, and his dark hair moving with the wind. Her lover, her everything.

Steps lighter than feather, she moved to embrace him from behind, encircling him, her palm on his heart, resting her head on his back. He tensed for a moment, but relaxed just as fast, and took her hand in his own rough, callused ones, tangling their fingers together. They remained that way for a few seconds, enjoying the warmth of each other's touch, oblivious to the loud noises around them.

“It will stand this time, my Queen,” he said, as he turned around to face her, and kissed her knuckles.

His black eyes drank her in, and she could see herself reflected in their depths. He looked worn, tired. Covered in sweat and grime and scars, his dark hair and beard long and unkempt. He had been toiling away, her husband, her Man, but he still looked as beautiful as he did the day she first laid eyes on him. He still was as charming as he was the first time she seeked him out. And he loved her more everyday, as did she, and if it was even possible, she was sure they would fall more in love, till one day, they both would be swept away by the Gods. If this was mortal life, she would give away her immortality a thousand times to spend it with the man she loved.

Arya didn't know who she was, or where this was happening, but she had long ago tried to change the course of the tale. She was a woman in love, and she could feel the very feeling running in her blood, overcoming her senses, drowning her in a way she never imagined it could. She could feel her face expressing her feelings, her bashfulness, her love for the man before her without her realising. 

She was there, but she wasn't really. She didn't matter. The tale was set in time, and she was just watching it as it unfurled, through someone else's eyes, in some other time, place and age. 

Her body was thrumming with power. Not the skills she had, no, but a power she didn't understand.

_ What was this magic? Who was she, truly? And why was she dreaming of this? _

“You say that everytime,” she replied, kindly, “What makes you so sure, My Love?” she asked, cupping his cheek.

“This,” he replied, placing his hand on her belly. Her face lit up with surprise, and he leaned in for a kiss. A soft, sweet peck on her lips, his beard tickling her cheeks, leaving her yearning for more.

_ This didn't happen last time I dreamt. _

“There is power in our love, I heard,” he said, and then, pointing at a young boy a few paces away, he continued,“ and that young man, who I believe you have made your Brother, has convinced me of it. We will make a home for us, and for the generations after us. Our love will live on through our children and our home. After all, my beautiful goddess cannot truly die, can she?”

His fury might rival that of the Gods, but her husband was a simple man, and he craved family and love and safety, even though he didn't express it. 

“Love is the strongest magic of all,” she repeated yet again, and her husband chuckled,

“Aye, and your brother there keeps reminding me of that every day, as he goes through the plans for those walls he's made. He keeps saying it's the bond of love uniting him and you as brother and sister. A bond of love, uniting us as man and wife.”

“And they said he was too dour,” she remarked, making him laugh.

“Talking about me, are we?” 

And they both spin around to find the young man in question. 

His dark hair, pale skin and grey eyes felt extremely familiar, but before she could ponder on, she felt her lips move on their own accord.

“Brother, who else would we be talking about, hmm? This husband of mine likes to fight, likes to defy, definitely not what I'd call dour.”

And when their eyes meet, even though he's not truly her brother by blood, she feels a sense of familiarity, of comfort, something she associated with home, with winter.

_ Winterfell. _

And suddenly he was changing, and she was changing, and no longer facing the young Northman, no, but had to look up into the blank, blue eyes of who she unmistakably recognised as her brother Bran. 

_ Bran! _

She could feel her mind scream, trying to free itself from the restraints of being in a body that was not of her own, but within the blink of an eye, he was gone, and once again, she was facing the Northman with the familiar grey eyes.

“Bran…”, she finally whispered, and wondered how the dream has finally allowed her to be herself, set her free, and then she realised, no, she was still in it, tied down as a spectator, when the young man in front of her looked at her with a smile,

“... everything alright, dear sister?”

She nodded. All she could think of was Bran, and how blank his eyes looked, and how he was right there. Was he trapped in his dreams too, like she was?

“My Queen, I'm not sure if you've heard, but they call him Bran the Builder now. He really likes building walls, even he admits to that.”

_ Bran the Builder. _

_ Bran who built the Wall. _

_ But still, Bran! _

And she woke up with his name on her lips, her hand in Gendry's as he stroked her mousy brown hair.

It slowly made sense to her. She'd been dreaming for a week now, and she'd never met Bran in her dream. Or Bran the Builder, for that matter. But she now knew what she was dreaming of, and who she was in the dream. She was watching the story of Durran and Elenei as it unfolded, and had almost died every night in her dreams when the castles collapsed six times. This was the seventh day, and she knew the story, this one would stand, and stand it would for centuries, unconquerable, stubbornly weathering the uncountable storms it faced, and carrying forward the legacy of the Storm Kings of old, by protecting their blood. Storm's End, which never fell.It was said Bran the Builder had spelled those walls with magic.

“ Do you want to talk about it?” Gendry asked softly, and once again, she felt a gush of affection for her Bull. The feeling of being cared for like this made her healing heart dance. She'd been a lone wolf for far too long.

“ I miss Bran. I miss my family.” 

“ We will see them soon, m'lady. Trust me, we will.”

“ Okay, now let us sleep, stupid Bull. You're missing enough of it on my account already.”

…

...

_ Was he sleeping already? _

“As m'lady commands.”

_ Ah, there it was. _

  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment down below! Every comment means the world to me. It can be a suggestion/encouragement of any sort.  
Kudos are little cookies of appreciation.
> 
> Ginnygirl99-swetz ♥️

**Author's Note:**

> Please make sure to tell me how you feel about it. Also any errors (grammatical/canon) you spot.  
Thanks again to @obsessivewriter and @coffeexwhiskey.
> 
> Swetz (ginnygirl99)


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